


Ghost Story

by blythechild



Series: Gift Fics 2016 [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Birthday Presents, Christmas, Conversations, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Character Death, Families of Choice, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Grief/Mourning, Married Life, Multi, Partnership, Post-Series, Resurrection, Separations, Snow, Surprises, Time Skips, We Just Love Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8800204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: Someone is sending anonymous gifts to Peter and Elizabeth's son, and it makes them grieve for Neal Caffrey even more. This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story is suitable for readers 14 years and older.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 2016 gift story for Caseylf123 and nywcgirl who both asked for a White Collar story focusing on Neal with hurt/comfort and winter time details. Since I don't write in this fandom often, I've combined their requests into one story. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for prompting!

Elizabeth yawned and slurped her coffee as she headed for the front door. Behind her and up the stairs she could hear Peter engage in his typical morning battle with Neal.

“C’mon now, Puddlepants, why do you have to fight me so much? You can’t walk around underwear-less for the rest of your life. Might as well get into the habit now…”

Neal squealed and Elizabeth could picture him with his tiny scowl attempting to avoid his diaper and make his escape to freedom, much like his namesake. Her smile dimmed a little when she thought of the bigger Neal. But she was an optimistic person who didn’t like to dwell in sadness. She shook her head once and opened the door to retrieve the paper from the stoop.

A package sat next to the paper on their welcome mat. There was no delivery tag or return address, just a sticker that read ‘For Neal Burke’. Mystery packages were never good when you were married to an FBI agent.

“Hon,” she called over her shoulder and bent down to look at the box more closely.

“A little busy,” Peter called back with Neal now giggling like a fiend.

“Peter, you need to see this.”

There was a huff and then thumping on the stairs. “What is it?”

Elizabeth stepped back so Peter could see. His face darkened and he immediately handed Neal to her. “Take him and go to the back of the house. Now.”

“Honey, I don’t-”

“Elizabeth, please.”

She collected Neal with a shrug and then walked back to the kitchen. “Daddy’s being paranoid,” she cooed and Neal giggled in agreement. Then she called out, “It’s probably from Mozzie. Don’t shoot it or we’ll never hear the end of it from him.”

Twenty minutes later an FBI tactical unit was traipsing all over her house and tracking fall leaves everywhere. She made them coffee and they all looked abashed and mumbled apologies about the muddy footprints.

“It’s not a bomb,” she told Peter cheerfully as he and a tech with a scanner hovered over the box on the stoop. Peter just waved her back into the house with an exasperated ‘El…’. Five minutes after that he walked into the kitchen with the box.

“It’s not a bomb,” he proclaimed. She just smiled over her mug at him.

“Open it.” She handed him some scissors and he looked at her like he couldn’t believe that she didn’t think absolutely _everything_ was a threat. But he opened it, and it was stunning.

Peter lifted out a meticulously handcrafted wooden music box. The lid was inlaid with various types of wood and mother-of-pearl accents in a design that was early Art Nouveau, one of Elizabeth’s favorite movements. When she opened the lid, a wooden bear and stag in fabric courtier outfits revolved in the center dancing to the chiming lilt of Debussy’s _Claire du Lune_.

“Oh… wow,” she gasped, as she and baby Neal leaned to get a better look.

“It looks old,” Peter said.

“It looks _authentic_ ,” she corrected.

“You’re saying… it’s an antique?”

“I’m saying, yeah, and it’s probably worth a minor fortune.” Neal reached out with chubby fingers towards the dancing animals. Elizabeth gave him a little snuggle and smiled. “What a beautiful birthday gift for the little man.”

“Hmmmm,” Peter seemed less charmed. “I wonder what it means…”

Elizabeth’s answer was immediate but she bit her tongue and considered whether she should say it aloud. Then she sighed and decided to let it out no matter how much it hurt; she didn’t like to dwell but she wasn’t prepared to forget either.

“If Neal were here,” she said gently. “He’d know everything about it.”

Baby Neal looked at her when he heard his name. Peter looked at her as if he’d just seen a ghost. She rounded the counter and kissed him quickly. His grief was still so sharp even after a year and a half. She told herself the pain that lanced through her chest was on his account, but part of it was her loss as well. _Dammit, Neal, didn’t you know you were supposed to be invincible?_

“Sorry, hon.”

“Don’t be,” he kissed her back softly. “He _would_ know all about it. And he’d be annoying and smug as hell too.”

“And he’d love it,” she smiled her little upside-down smile.

“And he’d love it,” Peter said wistfully. 

She cuddled her boys in silence for a moment. _For Neal._ And then she got on with her day. “I’ll do some research on it. And I’ll ask Moz. I bet it’s got a story.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “I’d better get into the office so I can justify the early morning tactical alert to the Assistant Director.”

“Good luck with that.”

He turned to go and then she cleared her throat. He went blank for a moment and then smiled. Neal was dead and he could _still_ distract him; Elizabeth tried not to take that personally.

“Sorry,” Peter muttered and then swept her up in a kiss that made her forget about her resentment. Baby Neal made a wet burbling sound that could’ve been either disgust or approval. “And Happy Birthday, Puddlepants. When I get home tonight we’re having cake and sugary drinks to celebrate.”

“Or a sensible meal, a bath, and an early bedtime,” Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. “Because Mommy wants some quality time with Daddy.”

“Oh really?” Peter smiled broadly. “That can be arranged.”

She grinned and sent him on his way, hoping that a birthday meal and a night in could distract him from the boxes in the crawlspace that he thought she didn’t know about. They had a layer of dust on them and she wanted them to stay that way.


	2. Chapter 2

On his second birthday, Neal Burke received a vintage brass snow globe of birds flocking around London’s Saint Paul Cathedral. Again, it appeared on the doorstep addressed to him and without any explanation. At least Peter didn’t call in a SWAT team this time. A few days later when Mozzie let himself in through the back door for some of the Burkes’ wine and stroganoff, he proclaimed that it was ‘valuable, but more of an oddity than a rare find’.

“Glass was hard to come by during the Blitz,” he mused as he peered at it like it was poisonous. “Did the Birthday Fairy deliver it again?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“I’m surprised the Suit didn’t report it to ICE this time,” he muttered and poured himself another glass of wine. “But still, Birthday Fairy must love your son… you know, since the little pixie risks getting shot at least once a year…”

“Moz, seriously, this isn’t you?” Elizabeth frowned.

Mozzie blinked and then walked over and gave her a quick, unexpected hug. “Mrs. Suit, you’re one of my eight favorite non-felons, and Little Neal is like, _family_. I wouldn’t beat around the bush with gifts like this. Well… maybe the first time, but I’d de-bush myself for any subsequent donations, I swear.”

Elizabeth chuckled and sipped her wine, a little disappointed that the mystery continued. And each time something inexplicable happened, it sent Peter scurrying off to the crawlspace, whether the situation had any hallmarks of a Neal escapade or not. The boxes were less dusty than they’d been a year ago, and Elizabeth despaired that her husband would ever truly let Neal go.

“Feels like a Neal caper,” Mozzie said suddenly and quietly, a haunted look on his usually bright features.

“I know. I wish it was,” El murmured.

“Me too,” Mozzie mumbled and put his glass down pushing it away.


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing arrived on Neal’s third birthday. Elizabeth stared disbelieving at the stoop and then shut the door quickly when she heard Peter come up behind her.

“Everything okay?” he said, wrangling a wiggling, growling toddler in his arms.

“Yep,” she smiled brightly. “Just getting the paper.”

“Mommy, I want pancakes!” Neal yelled while both his parents winced.

“Okay, Little Prince, will do, but inside voice, alright?” She shooed her men into the kitchen.

“Anything else outside today?” Peter asked once he’d settled Neal into his seat at the kitchen counter.

“Nope,” Elizabeth shook her head, feeling that strange, never-healed stab of grief stealing her breath from her. It was nice believing… pretending that the fantasy was real for one day each year… But she _didn’t dwell_ \- and she had to do that for Peter. Shaking her head she pushed it all aside. “Don’t forget the balloons for this afternoon, okay?”

Peter got his suspicious FBI scowl on but Neal yanked a placemat and spilled Peter’s coffee before he could investigate her deflection. _Nice move, kiddo_ , she thought and then smiled when she imagined that Big Neal would’ve been proud of her son’s beginner distraction technique.


	4. Chapter 4

On Neal’s fifth birthday the Stoop Fairy returned delivering a box that Elizabeth and Peter allowed Neal to open himself for the first time. El’s heart leapt when she saw it on the doormat next to the New York Times, and when she brought it into the living room and Peter saw it, he burst into a delighted grin that broke her a little. Neal tore through the packaging and craft paper, and lifted out an exquisitely detailed stuffed rabbit in a tweed suit.

“Is that…?” Peter squinted.

“Yep, it’s made of velveteen,” she confirmed with a lopsided smile.

Neal grabbed it close and squeezed, grinning madly. He was fond of stuffed animals and she’d caught him talking to some of them as if they were real. It looked as though the rabbit in the doddering old man suit was destined to become a new favorite.

“You like him?” she smiled at her son’s unrestrained joy. 

“Yes!” Neal held him out to show Peter. “Look, Dad, a rabbit! He’s so soft!”

“That’s great, squirt. Whatcha gonna name him?”

Neal thought for a moment, sticking out his tongue in concentration. “Satchmo?”

“Well, the dog’s Satchmo. That might get confusing.”

Satchmo lifted his head from his dog bed in sleepy interest but then huffed and rolled over. He was too old for stuffed animals and their manic minders.

“Uh…” Neal hummed. “Who gave it to me? I could name it after them.”

Peter and Elizabeth looked at one another.

“Well, squirt, the rabbit is from the same person who gave you the music box and the snow globe,” Peter explained.

“I love the music box,” Neal declared earnestly. “I love the dancing bear.”

“I know you do. But we don’t know who sent them – they’re anonymous.”

“Anon… Anony-MOUSE?”

“Anony _mous_ , sweety,” Elizabeth interrupted. “It means ‘unknown’.”

“Well, I can’t call him _that_ ,” Neal said with a huff of exasperation at his uncooperative parents.

“What about…” Peter thought, with his tongue sticking out just like his son, and then snapped his fingers. “I got it: Nobody. That’s close, right?”

He looked so proud of himself that Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to tell him what a horrible idea that was. Neal bounced to his feet, delighted by his father’s delight.

“Nobody!” he crowed and lifted the rabbit above his head in celebration. 

“Jeez…” Elizabeth mumbled and set about cleaning up the present debris. Neal knocked over the box in his excitement and she saw a small sheet of paper fall out. “What’s this?”

Peter looked up at her and then picked up Neal and Nobody as he watched her read. “What’s that?”

“A note,” she said breathlessly. “To Neal.”

Peter’s face got stony and suspicious.

“It reads:  
_Dear Neal,  
Please look after this rabbit. He has lost his family and is all alone in the world. I told him that you and your family would be an excellent one to visit. He is a good rabbit at heart – all he needs is love. He will look after you if you look after him, because that is what you do when you love someone. Don’t let me down._ ” El looked up at Peter. “It’s typed and there’s no name.”

“El, give that to me,” Peter had his Special Agent voice going.

“Peter,” she sighed. “It’ll be like all the rest…”

“I’m going to check it anyway,” he rumbled at her. She scowled at him and stood her ground, but when he just held his hand out in silence while cradling their son, she rolled her eyes and marched forward slapping the paper into his grip.

“I’m not happy with you right now,” she murmured dangerously.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said without managing to sound sorry at all.

Neal looked between them, his expression collapsing from joy to sadness in an instant. His lower lip started to tremble and he clutched the velveteen rabbit tighter. “I’ll take good care of Nobody. I’ll do it good, like the box told me to.”

“I know you will, hon,” Elizabeth softened and smiled at her son, taking him from Peter. “No one’s going to take Nobody away from you. He’s your responsibility now.”

El shot Peter a ‘this isn’t over’ look as she carried Neal into the kitchen for breakfast, but Peter was lost in the mystery of the note. He’d disappeared and forgotten them again.

 

Later that evening after cake, presents, balloons, a not-unexpected tummy ache, and two goodnight stories, Elizabeth went straight to the crawlspace. She wasn’t going to mince words, especially when he didn’t even bother to hide the boxes from her anymore. 

“Peter, this has to stop,” she said to his back as he leaned over one of the dusty banker’s boxes. “It isn’t healthy and I’m done indulging it.”

His shoulders tensed before he turned to face her in the dim light cast from the bulb dangling from the ceiling. “This is me, El, you know it is. I can’t let this go. There’s a mystery here and I’m going to figure it out.”

At least he hadn’t bothered to deny it. 

“It isn’t Neal.”

“We don’t know that.”

“ _I_ know it because he’s dead, Peter. He’s dead and it hurts, even after almost six years, and nothing in those boxes will change any of that.” She sighed and took a breath to calm herself because he didn’t understand how much it hurt _her_ every time he refused to accept reality. “You can’t just take a time out on your life because you can’t say goodbye to Neal Caffrey.”

He blinked at her, a little stunned.

“I told you when I got pregnant that I wouldn’t be a single mother in this marriage. You promised me that you’d change. I wasn’t entirely sure you meant it, but then… he died, and I thought you’d pour all of that energy from him into Little Neal instead. The idea almost made the loss bearable.”

“El, I-”

“Let me finish.” She took a moment and then dove straight into the whole silent mess. “I know you loved him, that you were _in love_ with him.”

“Elizabeth…” he breathed dangerously as he frowned.

“It’s okay, I know you love me, hon. I know that you love us both almost equally, and when I discovered that, I found that I didn’t mind it. Because I loved him that way too.” She let that hang quietly between them for a long moment. She stepped further into the crawlspace and got down on her knees next to him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

“He _belonged_ to us, Peter. He was part of our home, our family, our marriage…”

She could hear his rattled breathing in the dusty cage of memory around them. And then he took a deep, wet breath in. “I never-”

“I know. Neither did I,” she said calmly, stroking his arm. “Not that I’d ever do anything without coming to you about it first. No secrets between the Burkes. That’s the deal we’ve always had, right?”

He stared at her wide-eyed and stunned in the half-light, his throat moving awkwardly. She wondered if she’d just scared him beyond imagining.

“I love you, El,” he whispered. “You’re the name that’s carved into my heart. But… but I…” He stopped and swallowed almost painfully, blinking too much and trying to pull his reserve back to him by its bootstraps. “I loved him, so much… I-I didn’t know how… I never said anything. And then he was just _gone_.” Peter closed his eyes tightly and then shook his head. “I’d spent so much time being angry at all of his schemes and being suspicious of everything he did – like THAT was more important than him _being here_ …”

“Oh, hon…” she pulled him in and held him.

“He always had my back, El, even when I treated him like criminal. Even when I dismissed him and said he’d never change.” Peter breathed hard against her shoulder. “He died alone. Fucking Keller... Neal died alone and he never knew how much he meant to anyone. No one ever told him that he mattered – not even me. And I can’t forgive myself for all of the time I wasted being morally superior to him. Because he _did_ change, he _did_ matter… He was a good person and he should’ve heard that from the one guy he’d never let down.”

“Shush, sweety, shush…” Elizabeth rocked him gently trying to swallow back all of her regrets as well as Peter’s.

“How do I… what do I _do_ with all of this now, El? There’s this hole straight through me, and it just aches…”

“You’ve got to stop holding on so tight, Peter. You’ve got to let it hurt you until it’s done – there’s no avoiding it. He’s dead. We have to live with our regrets.” Elizabeth pulled back and looked him in the eye. Peter was worn and shadowed all over – he looked much older than he was in that moment. “I was willing to share you with Neal when he was alive but I won’t share you with him now he’s dead. Every time you come to this crawlspace, every time you forget about me and little Neal because you think you’ve found something new that proves your theory, it’s like losing him all over again. Like it’s the first day when you told me the news. I can’t handle it, Peter – it’s suffocating me. I loved him and lost him too.”

Peter closed his eyes and leaned into her hands that now held him on either side of his jaw. “I’m sorry, El… I should’ve… I’m so sorry.”

She brought his lips to hers and kissed him, long and slow and full of memory. “He’s not in these boxes, Peter. This is just evidence of the man everyone thought he was. The Neal Caffrey we both loved… he was far more elusive than all of this.”

“This is all I have of him…” Peter started.

“No, it isn’t. Everything you have of him is in here,” she tapped his temple, and then brushed her hand down to his chest over his heart. “And here. The pain you feel… it’s good, Peter. It means you loved him. Don’t avoid it. Walk straight through it and honor his memory. That’s what I did.”

Peter looked at her the same way he did after their first date: like she was the surprise he’d been waiting all his life to discover. “You are an astounding woman,” he said eventually.

She gave him her inverted smile and drifted a hand to his, lacing their fingers together and tugging. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I hate this room.”

He followed her obediently, drained of the usual pride with which he carried himself. She took him to bed and they made love slowly, with great care. And afterwards as they lay entangled, neither one of them bothered to hide their tears away, or the fact that they both wished someone else was there with them.


	5. Chapter 5

Christmas approached and New York City decided to make it memorable that year with snow and unseasonable cold that left you breathless and dashing around more than usual. Neal was coming out of his skin with excitement, spending most of December actively narrating how great the holiday would be to Nobody. He dragged the rabbit everywhere and treated it like it was his brother, like it was _alive_. Peter found it worrying but Elizabeth shushed him and said, “He’s five, Peter. Let him have the magic for a while.”

Mozzie came over one evening to help make popcorn and candied cranberry strings for the Christmas tree with Neal. It was a holdover from his orphanage days (probably the only good one) and Elizabeth loved it and watching him with little Neal. It felt like something out of a Christmas tv special and she was _just_ nerdy enough to be really into that even though she played it off like it was all for her son’s benefit. He got up to pour more wine while Elizabeth prepared another string for threading and blinked a strangely wistful smile at her.

“Where’d you get the rabbit?” he asked, nodding at Neal on the floor showing Nobody how to thread popcorn but mostly just eating it instead.

“The Birthday Fairy,” she murmured. Mozzie’s smile disappeared.

“He’s back?”

“Or she. We still don’t know who it is.” Elizabeth shrugged and sipped her wine. “This time it came with a note though.”

“And…” he rolled his hand to encourage her.

“And it was weird. Sad, almost. It said that the rabbit was alone in the world and needed a family. It told Neal to take good care of him. And, of course, it wasn’t signed.”

“Like the real Velveteen Rabbit. Or Paddington. Or Puff the Magic Dragon. Or Woody from _Toy Story_. The best kid stories are the sad ones.”

She blinked at him. “You know a lot of children’s stories.”

Mozzie shrugged, giving her his ‘I don’t care’ face that she never bought into. “ _The Velveteen Rabbit_ was always my favorite.” 

She stared at him and waited because insights into Mozzie were always worth the wait. “It’s about transformation. It’s sad, see, because the rabbit and the boy love each other but that can’t last forever. But then the rabbit becomes real – gets a new life. He never forgets the boy though. That’s what life’s about, right? Never forgetting the ones you care about…”

Her heart constricted a little and then made a big thud inside her chest. She got up and walked over to him, squeezing him close and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeah, Moz, that’s what life’s about.”

He blinked owlishly and then smiled, ducking his head as his cheeks pinked up. She gave him a little wiggle and he held his glass away from them quickly. “The wine…” he warned, and she let him go with a soft chuckle.

“You know,” he said as he took his seat on the floor again with Neal and Nobody. “A certain con man we both knew loved that story too. Not surprising… all of us ne’er-do-wells love the idea of redemptive resurrection even if it conflicts with _the lifestyle_.” Mozzie hooked his fingers in air quotes. “It’s the most dangerous of cons: the self-con.”

“C’mon, Mozzie, everyone can change if they want it badly enough. Look at you?” Elizabeth gestured to the tooth-achingly wholesome Victorian Christmas activity on the floor in front of her. Mozzie gave her a dirty look.

“I’m sentimental about the holidays, that’s all. And I’ll thank you not to cast aspersions on my notorious character, Mrs. Suit.”

She snorted and let it go, even as Mozzie leaned to help Neal with his popcorn string, launching into a story directed at the stuffed rabbit sitting between them.

After Mozzie left and Neal had been put to bed, Elizabeth found herself finishing off the bottle and being mesmerized by the snow falling past her kitchen window into the darkness. Peter’s apologetic text promised that he was finally on his way home, and she decided to indulge in a little moodiness while no one was around to witness it. She loved winter but it was also the darkest time of the year – the closing of one thing and the beginning of another. She was always prone to navel-gazing more at this time of year, to wondering the ‘what-ifs’ and the ‘what-might-have-beens’ too much. She thought about changing jobs, she thought about where she and Peter were going, she wondered about having another child, and as she got lost in all of that to the rhythm of the falling snow, her eyes caught a flicker of movement in the backyard. Snow falling in a clump, not flutter. And then, as she squinted into the darkness, she saw fresh footprints in the snow leading from the hedges at the back and coming close to the patio doors. 

Her wine-happy buzz evaporated as a shiver shook her from head to foot. She was alone in the house with a defenseless child sleeping upstairs. It was too late to call Mozzie and have him come back. God knows where Peter was. And this was New York – weirdly terrible things happened to people every day in this city.

She looked around for Peter’s baseball bat – she was always tripping over the damned thing. But then she thought better of it. She was drunk and her aim would be off, and a bat wasn’t really too intimidating to anyone but an amateur. There was a gun in the desk between the kitchen and living room. Peter had taken her to the range and showed her how to use it even though she hated it. She only hesitated for a second, and then she walked to the patio doors and hoped that Peter was just minutes from home. She slid the glass door open and walked out into the darkened yard that was eerily baffled by the falling snow; she couldn’t even hear the ever-present hum of traffic from the street beyond. Walking out further, the security lights switched on and the snow glowed preternaturally. And so did the footprints. Some were deep and others had a new layer of snow over them, as if someone had gone away and then come back while the snow had fallen. She pulled the hammer back on the .38 carefully and swept the garden as she pointed it at nothing.

“So, you’ve got two choices here,” she said into the night, her breath forming puffs into the air. “Go back the way you came and everyone lives another day, or keeping coming at me and take your chances with my aim. It’s up to you.”

The wind swirled the snow around her, lining her hair and blouse with wet flakes that melted and set her shivering faster than she thought they should. The garden remained still around her. She swept her view with the gun again, and again. She wondered if her threat worked. She wondered if she should go back inside and wait. The shivering got worse, making her grip on the gun shake noticeably.

“Elizabeth, I’m unarmed.” The voice came from the darkness beyond the arc of the security lights where shadows from the cedar hedge blended into the night. Footfalls crunched lightly in a sure, slow rhythm. “Don’t shoot me.”

A shadow manifested and then slowly took shape. A man with his hands raised in surrender. Then he reached the perimeter of the lights and popped into reality in an instant. Slim, even in an overcoat designed for weather worse than this, leather gloves outlining long fingers, trim pants of a style not suited for nocturnal stalking activities, a neat beard sprinkled with grey and the snow around them, but the eyes… the eyes she’d know anywhere. He frowned and stopped a good twelve feet away from her, his hands still raised. He blinked through the snow and then took a deep breath.

“Please, Elizabeth. You know guns make me nervous.”

Neal Caffrey. Older, different, and almost certainly not a hallucination. Also, _really_ not dead.

She lowered the gun and slowly eased the hammer back into position. Then she placed it on the abandoned patio table and strode through the snow towards him only stopping when she was close enough to feel the heat of him radiating from his coat. He stood his ground but looked astonished – almost afraid of her – and his mouth fell open but he didn’t seem capable of saying anything. She stared at him hard for ten seconds, the snow showering them both in blissful disinterest, and then she reached up grasping him hard around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He went rigid when their lips met but he didn’t pull away, and as she persisted she felt his hands land on her hips, lightly but also non-committal. He was warm and tasted a little like Lagavulin. Her heart thudded awkwardly when she remembered giving him a bottle for his birthday and he’d hugged her too hard in thanks. She pulled away from him with a soft pop of their lips and he stood there, eyes still wary and leaning close to her as if he didn’t know what to do next. _Must be a first for him_ , she thought ruefully.

“Elizabeth, wha-”

Then she hauled off and hit him as hard as she could. He hissed and stumbled backwards holding his jaw, and she staggered sideways trying to hide a hiss of her own.

“What… what was that for??” he asked when he gathered himself again.

“ _That_ was for what you did to us, Neal,” she gritted through her teeth as she shook some feeling back into her hand. “For the hell that you’ve put Peter through.”

“I…I know. I’m sorry…” His expression went from shocked to devastated quicker than she could imagine.

“No, you don’t know, Neal. You weren’t here for any of it. You didn’t have to watch him go through denial or the crushing guilt of letting you down. You weren’t here to see how he shut himself off from his family to chase your ghost, and you weren’t around to watch him collapse when he realized he loved you and he’d never get a chance to say it to you.” She shook from the cold and her six year-long resentment. “But I was.”

“Elizabeth,” he said wetly and then couldn’t seem to finish.

“Why, Neal?” she whispered, shaking the snow from her hair. “Just… _why?_ ”

“Because Neal Caffrey had to die.”

“Well, there had to be another way to do it.”

“Do you think I wanted to leave?” He stepped forward and then thought better of getting any closer, looking to her right hand.

“I don’t know, Neal. Half the time you were itching to get away and the other half… well, it felt like… you’d do anything to stay. It’s hard to know what you really meant by any of it.”

“You were my family. You and Peter. And now Neal.” His eyes seemed huge, practically leaking earnestness, and she wondered how many had fallen for that look. But his face was also shadowed, some gauntness hidden by his beard, and the lines around his eyes were much deeper than before.

“So, you’re the Birthday Fairy,” she huffed and he looked confused. “That’s what Mozzie calls the person who leaves presents on our stoop.”

“Ummm, yes, I am.” He shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “You named your son after me.”

“It was one way to stop our hearts from bleeding out,” she murmured and felt a small, selfish whirl of triumph when the statement made him look at her, and the look seemed broken. “We loved you, Neal. We’d have done anything – _anything_ – to keep you with us. With all that entails. I don’t care how moral Peter gets about it – we would’ve done whatever we needed to in order to keep you safe from harm.”

“So,” Neal breathed after a long, awkward silence. “The kiss…”

“Is the least of it,” she finished. “For Peter as well.”

Neal looked to his feet in the deepening snow.

“You knew that, Neal. For years you _must_ have known that.”

“Hon?” Peter’s voice rang through the house behind them.

“Here, Peter,” she called out without taking her eyes off Neal. “In the garden.”

“El, what are you doing out-”

Peter’s eyes found her and then immediately moved to the shadowy figure beyond her. She stepped away to give him an unobstructed view and then waited. He blinked through the falling snow and then realization hit, and she watched him hide away under a stony, unreadable expression. It wasn’t really worth the effort since both she and Neal were so familiar with Peter’s ‘tells’ that they’d see right through it to the hurt he was trying to mask.

“Neal,” he breathed, and it looked as if his whole body clamped down on an urge to move. El wasn’t sure if he wanted to grab him or to kill him.

“Hi, Peter,” Neal said quietly, squaring his shoulders to match Peter’s tension but looking at him with a stare of unfiltered sadness. Peter said nothing in return and the two of them just stared each other down in the falling snow. For a split second Elizabeth _hated_ stubborn men and all of the useless time they wasted. When it became clear that Peter either wouldn’t or couldn’t move forward, Neal shuffled and stretched his gloved hands at his sides before he sighed and looked away. _He’s letting Peter win, he’s letting him have this moment over him_ , she thought with a flutter of gratitude that Neal knew Peter so well. Then Neal shot back with his best weapon: his winning smile.

“Elizabeth already hit me.”

Peter’s gaze switched to her. She shrugged and nodded.

“So, you’ll have to come up with something better,” Neal finished.

She smirked and shook her head at Neal but when she turned back to Peter she discovered that he was still staring at her intently. There was something haunted about it and it took her breath from her. He’d worn the same look that night in the crawlspace when he’d admitted to everything – his inability to grieve, his failure to love – and she didn’t want to live with that man, that broken version of Peter. Not when life had miraculously offered up a solution to it. But still, he watched her, waiting… _No secrets between the Burkes. We do everything as a team._ She blinked back the swell in her chest, because she’d never love him more than in this moment when he silently told her he’d live with his pain for the rest of his life if she asked him to. And then the swell burst into something expansive and searing when she gave him her secret smile and nodded, because she’d share him and he’d share her, and it meant everything to them both.

But to Neal, who didn’t understand the six years between them that he’d missed, it must have seemed like something else. He shuffled backwards in the snow hesitantly, and as Elizabeth turned to look at him she wondered if he really intended to disappear into the hedge again instead of using the door.

“You’re angry, and you have every right to be. You’ve got your lives and that hasn’t included me for a long time, and… I had no right to come. To be here now…” 

That blue gaze cast about, dimming and sinking into the lines of his face. There was none of the cocky surefootedness that he wore in the past when it seemed impossible for him to lose at anything. It made Elizabeth’s stomach twist, but Peter was faster. Striding through the snow, he collected Neal into his chest in a brutal hug, his knuckles turning white as his hands dug into Neal’s coat. He just gripped him tightly in silence, face buried in Neal’s shoulder as Neal staggered and breathed harshly, waving his hands at his sides like he was trying to learn how to fly. And then a split second later his arms snapped around Peter, making an actual sound El could hear as he tugged Peter close. His eyes squeezed shut, ducking his face into Peter’s collar, as if he couldn’t find the words to release the ache freed by the forgiveness he’d just received. And the air was just filled with falling snow and rasped breath as they both tried to ignore that there might be tears involved in this moment.

“I’m sorry…” Neal choked, and Elizabeth did the same when she heard the squeak of his leather gloves tightening around Peter.

“Shut up,” Peter growled, but it sounded wet and strained. His body bent, crushing Neal against him sharply, forcing his height to be a weapon in his favor. Every fiber of him screamed _‘Stay’_ and it made Elizabeth’s pulse jump because she didn’t know how they’d survive this if Peter’s judgment stepped up to the plate and decided to knock Neal back to wherever he’d been for the last six years. 

“Dammit, Neal…” he pulled back from the hug far enough to catch Neal’s eyes. Neal looked a little worse for wear: gaze dangerously glassy and worried, probably still expecting a fist to the jaw. His mouth dropped open to say something and just hung there uselessly as the swirling wind messed his usually perfect hair. Peter’s hand slid up until it cupped Neal’s jaw, palm resting solidly against his pulse, and then Neal’s eyes got impossibly wider.

“Peter-”

Peter moved in and stole whatever Neal was going to say next. Neal froze in their shared grip, much as he had when El kissed him, but as with her, he eased into it after a tortured moment. They moved together slowly, curling and adjusting, and when one of Neal’s hands drifted up to grip the back of Peter’s neck possessively, Elizabeth felt something potent and primal coil within her. Their lips slipped and reconnected softly, and someone hummed into the winter wind but she couldn’t tell who. She sympathized though; she knew how talented Peter could be when properly motivated, and though she’d only sampled Neal once, he was no slouch either. When they came apart it was with a puff of shared air that rose up into the night sky, and Peter didn’t let Neal go far, knocking their foreheads together as he kept a firm grip on the man’s jaw.

“I missed you,” he murmured just above Neal’s lips, and then he dipped in giving him another lingering kiss. “I hate the beard though.”

“Really?” Elizabeth finally snapped out of the daze of watching her two men together. And then her mind hiccupped over the idea of _‘her two men’_ … She walked towards them and circled her arms around the huddle that they’d made of themselves. “I kinda like it.”

Neal stared at her as if he wasn’t sure if this were a dream or not, but Peter smiled and gave her a long, soft kiss of her own. She hummed gratefully, and then after a moment felt a different, hesitant set of lips reverently brush her temple. She squeezed her hand around Peter and rubbed a hand along Neal in a soothing way. When she pulled back to look at them they both seemed flushed and curious. She felt the same way but gave them both a reassuring smile. _We’ll figure this out._

“This is…” Neal began and just gave up, blinking.

“Unexpected,” Peter offered with a lopsided smirk.

“Weird,” El added.

“Yes,” Neal nodded and then suddenly grinned like it would break him. Some of the years melted away as he did it. And then the wind shifted and he seemed to shift with it back into the older, thinner version of himself. “It’s also something that I was ashamed of even thinking about for a long time. I thought… it felt like maybe I just wanted what you two had so much and it came out wrong. Moz always said that I had screwed up personal impulses…”

“That’s rich,” Peter snorted softly. “Coming from him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to belong, Neal,” Elizabeth said quietly as she stroked his back. “And we’re all adults here. We all know what’s at stake.”

But did they really? They stood in silence for a long moment, just huddled together in the snow. Elizabeth watched Peter’s hand stroke the line of Neal’s jaw with his thumb. Neal’s eyes locked on Peter’s and he stuttered, as if he were caught between what he wanted and what ought to be. 

“I tried so hard… tried to put New York behind me when I left,” he gasped and it sounded as if it actually hurt. “But no matter where I went or who was distracting me at the time, I always felt something tugging at me underneath everything. Every time I caved and thought of you two in this house, something would tell me to _‘go home’_. It just made everything else around me dull and transparent.”

“Neal,” Peter cleared his throat after a long moment of silence. “Do you _want_ to come home?”

Neal just blinked and Elizabeth felt him shiver so violently that it rattled both her and Peter. “But this isn’t home. You’re not mine; I’ve always been an add-on.” He stopped himself before he said anything else, and then he shook his head. “I… I don’t know if that’s possible. I’m not even Neal Caffrey anymore…”

“We can work that out,” Peter was using his federal agent voice – calm, assured, tackling one problem at a time.

“I told you,” El looked up at Neal, squeezing him closer. “We’d do _anything_ …”

“But people know me here. Peter’s an FBI agent. There are people _in his office_ who know me. And you two have a family, you’re respectable…”

“Who are you now?” Peter interrupted as if Neal’s train of thought was beside the point.

“Ethan Galloway. I have an Irish passport.”

“Has Ethan Galloway done anything illegal in the past six years?”

“No,” Neal shook his head. “I’m an art restorer. Occasionally I authenticate items.”

Peter shot him a critical eyebrow and Elizabeth pinched him. He twitched and glared at her but then she raised both of her brows in return.

“He’s changed, Peter. Remember our talk about regrets?”

Neal looked at them both quizzically, and then moved on. “My resume and references are… _creative_ , but my work history has been completely legit since I left New York. I spent a year in France and then two in London working at the Tate. Then, there was a complication and I had to go to Russia. I worked at The Hermitage for a while.”

“A complication?” Peter’s mouth twisted in an ‘I knew it’ sort of way that made El want to hit him. _Always so quick to suspect…_

Neal sighed. “I was seeing someone.”

Peter looked as if Neal had just stabbed him in the gut. Elizabeth didn’t feel much better. 

“She was… well, she was like me,” he continued as he averted his eyes from both of them. “She took a job that was beyond her skill set, and she failed. She didn’t get caught, but the people she worked for weren’t the type to accept failure. They came for her, she ran, and I followed her to Russia.”

“Let me guess,” El found herself saying. “This was around two years ago…”

“Yes,” Neal looked at her curiously. “How-”

“That’s when the Birthday Fairy stopped showing up,” she mumbled. Neal frowned and twisted away from them both.

“What happened to her?” Peter tried to act like this was all just details from a case file.

“I got her out of it, and I did it legally. Or as legally as I’ve ever managed,” Neal turned and looked Peter in the eye. “But it wasn’t the wake-up call I thought it would be for her. She wanted to keep going. I knew then that it was done – she didn’t want to change and I didn’t want back into the game. She did her best to change my mind but… it’s not a life. It’s just an endless series of adrenaline spikes and it just seems _pointless_ to me now. It’s not fun anymore.”

Neal jutted his chin at Peter. “You’ve done that to me.”

Peter blinked and frowned, his shoulders tensing at the accusation.

“Somewhere in between Super Max and now, the con stopped being a rush and started being a morality play inside my head. A voice that sounds suspiciously like _yours_ ,” Neal pointed at Peter. “Keeps asking me if it’s worth it. Tells me how disappointed it’ll be if I make the wrong choice, even when I’m thousands of miles away and dead to everyone who ever gave a damn about the state of my soul.”

“Neal-”

“I’m not Neal anymore,” he said quietly and let it hang over them. “Neal wanted his freedom back so badly that it ran every waking moment of his life. But by the time I actually managed to get it, I realized what I had to give up in the deal. A friendship I’d do anything for, including changing my nature.” Neal reached out and cupped Peter’s jaw, provoking a shocked huff. And then he turned to El, smiling in a way that made the lines around his eyes crinkle. “And acceptance and a home that I’d never earned.”

He held them both with his eyes and his silence for an instant before dropping both and backing away again. “When I chased Elise to St. Petersburg I thought I was trying to save my chance at having these things for myself, but when I asked her to go straight she laughed. I knew then that I wasn’t missing something – some abstract concept that I’d seen somewhere else and wanted to duplicate. I was missing specific people – people I had no right to. That was the cost of my freedom and the price was too high.”

“So come back,” El whispered, moving closer and clutching her fingers into the folds of his coat.

“People will only ever see Neal when they look at me, no matter what I do. Even you.” His smile turned sad.

Peter reached out and wrenched Neal’s face back to him, a terrible scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I _see_ you. I’ve always seen the goodness in you, Neal. That’s why I was so hard on you, why I didn’t tell you… how proud I was whenever you proved me wrong and became more than I anticipated. You’re a good man, deep down where it counts and… and I should’ve never let you think otherwise.”

He took in a wet, sharp breath. “The fact that you found yourself doing the right thing, even when no one was there to obligate you, even when _I’d never know about it_ , that proves who you really are. I don’t need anything else, Neal. I’m done making you prove your honor.”

Neal didn’t have an answer for that. He blinked rapidly and tried to look away even as Peter held him still with shaking hands. They seemed to be on the edge of something messy and compromising, and Elizabeth moved to stand between them to act as a buffer. There would be a time for messy and compromising but now – freezing their asses off in the backyard – wasn’t it. She tugged at Neal’s coat and eventually got him to look at her.

“You’re not an add-on, Neal,” she murmured. “You are a part of us, and we want you back. There’s been an ache running under our lives since you died. We’ve been surviving but we aren’t whole.” Her shivering hand flicked up to his hair and tried to smooth away the work the wind had done. “Please come home to your family. We’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know.”

He caught her hand in his, his gloves rubbing some heat into her numb fingers, and then he dropped his lips to them with warmth and care.

“Families are about couples, kids, office jobs, and little league schedules… I don’t fit.”

“To hell with that,” she gave him a ‘you’re an idiot’ smile. “This isn’t 1958, Neal. Family is what we say it is. You should know that better than anyone.”

Peter shuffled up behind her spreading some much needed heat up her back. She leaned into him gratefully.

“You have every right to this,” he said. “Stay, Neal… just _stay_.”

Neal’s expression collapsed as he stepped forward unsteadily and drew Peter into a forceful kiss. Elizabeth was pressed between them soaking up the heat of them around her with a stuttered sigh. She wrapped her arms around Neal’s waist and squeezed as she buried her face in his coat. She was emphatically _not_ wiping away tears on it. She heard Peter and Neal gasp softly over her and then felt a gloved hand fall into her hair circling with gentle pulls.

They separated with a hushed breath and a soft pop of their lips, and Elizabeth told herself that they’d have to set up some ground rules for this soon because that was way too arousing to be every day, around-the-house behavior.

“You’ll have to stop calling me Neal,” he said with a hint of his cocky grin. 

“Whatever you say, _Ethan_.” Peter meant for it to come off as sarcasm but it sounded more like longing.

“You’re the boss,” El smiled into his coat.

“That’s not true,” Peter mumbled, slightly put out.

“Of course it isn’t,” Neal chuckled as he drew Elizabeth’s chin up to face him, and then he slowly took her lips. “Elizabeth’s the boss.”

He pulled away afterwards, wide-eyed and happy, and the focus she received from him made her a little wobbly. _So **that’s** what it feels like_ , she shook herself to get her head back in the game. _Oh, ground rules… we really need ‘em…_

“You catch on quick,” she patted his chest as she tried to sound less breathy. “It took forever for Peter to figure that out.”

“Oh, I knew it the first day we met,” Neal winked at her and then gave Peter a smug smirk. 

“Suck up,” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Just laying a foundation,” Neal hummed innocently. “Establishing alliances…”

“Alliances?” Peter huffed. “I knew you first.”

“Arresting me and knowing me are not the same thing, no matter what kind of handcuff kink you have, Peter…”

“Boys, can we banter inside please?” Elizabeth interrupted. She was probably two minutes away from pneumonia. “Not that I don’t love the little sandwich you’ve made of me, but…”

“Sorry, hon,” Peter squeezed her waist and they both turned towards the house. Neal stood where he was, looking a little lost.

“C’mon Ne- _Ethan_ …” El said when she looked back and held out her hand to him.

“I’m… uh…”

“Where are you staying?” Peter turned practical on everyone.

“With June.”

Peter raised his eyebrows.

“ _She_ almost shot me with an antique derringer. Very film noir. But I have my old room back.”

“Come inside,” Peter said quietly as if afraid of spooking him. “We can talk, and then I’ll drive you back to June’s place. Deal?”

“This is just a first step,” Elizabeth added and wiggled her outstretched fingers. “There will be plenty of steps, Neal…”

He ducked his head and then smiled, stepping forward to hold her hand and follow them inside. “Okay.”

“Good. I was worried that you were going to try and exit through the hedge…”

“I’m not Mozzie,” Neal huffed.

“Speaking of Mozzie, does he know you’re back?” Peter asked as they all slipped through the patio door into the welcome rush of warmth.

“No. I’m working my way up to him. I think I’ll need a flak jacket and an expensive bottle of burgundy.”

“You’re not stealing our wine,” Elizabeth turned at the kitchen counter and pointed at him. “Mozzie already does that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Neal reached out and covered Peter’s hand on the counter top. Peter looked up quickly, surprised, and then Elizabeth watched as they both relaxed into it – the new normal. She smiled her secret smile at them both.

“I’d never steal from family,” Neal said.


End file.
